Frat Parties...
by Darwin's Ape
Summary: *SLASH*: X/S - Angsty smut. A crime against characterisation that I keep up here for the nice reviews and the reasonably witty narrative. Xander gets drunk and confronts Spike.


Author: Darwin's Ape

Title: Frat Parties…

Rating: 15 (=R) just to be on the safe side. There's liberal use of the word fuck for no good reason.

Category: X/S – Angsty smut.

Disclaimer: They're not mine. But I'll do you a deal. You don't sue me for this; I won't sue you when Series 7 features Spike, Xander and a bathtub full of dark chocolate.

Archive: Whatever. Wherever. Just tell me, yeah?

Notes: Um, yeah. They're slightly out of character and this is slightly AU. Enjoy!

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"Yeesh, Xander is drunk," said Willow. "What happened to our, um, designated driver plan thing?"

"W'j'fck," replied Spike, wondering where his vowels had gone. Ah, there we are. "Maybe your pet witch can get us home." Or your pet vampire, he reminded himself. "Don't s'pose you know what the boy's been drinking, anyway?" Smoothly done, twat. Wouldn't do to act too concerned about the whelp now, would it? Not when you're probably the reason he's changed his drinking style. 

"He's had a lot of that brilliant vodka jelly, for starters. You remember that ripped off stuff you got us sheep – cheap?"

"Hey, that wasn't ripped off! I nicked it from a decent shop an' all."

Willow tried to raise an eyebrow. After the fifth attempt, she noticed the vampire looking at her impatiently. She wondered why.

"The vodka?"

"Oh, I think they put it in the jelly. The only way to get rid of it, short of using it against G'skan demons."

Not even G'skan demons deserved a fate like that, Spike decided before beginning to giggle uncontrollably. Not that the master vampire had let himself get completely rat arsed. Oh, no, not Spike. But just in case, he quietly resolved that from now on he would stick to the warm coke thoughtfully put out for the teetotallers, who would soon be faced with the thrilling task of putting those who passed out into something approaching the recovery position.

"I guess it's own fairly after – only fair – after how much work he had to do last time." No, Spike certainly hadn't let himself drown his worries over the boy in fraternity-strength punch. "Talking of which, aren't you meant to be cleaning up the Slayer's puke?"

"Oh Goddess, no. Leave it 'til morning and then let her scrape it off."

Maybe he could no longer hurt humans, maybe he could no longer drain them dry, all the while bringing their screams to fever pitch with assorted – OW! Sodding chip! Fuck off an' die, why don't you? – but if there was one thing Spike could still do pretty fucking well, if he did say so himself, it was an evil snigger. So engrossed was he in this activity that he didn't notice his and his companion's pets' approach.

Tara rushed up to her lover in the hope of a drunken fumble. In her eagerness she dislodged Willow's tentative grip on a nearby table, knocking them both to the floor. Spike reached down to help them up, noticed that **he** was helping white witches without the promise of sex, tried to stop, failed. Net result being drunken vampire sprawled over drunken witches, with drunken Xander beginning to laugh the laugh of someone who, despite not being able to form coherent sentences, is vaguely aware just how much he will regret everything the next morning. 

"Woah," he said. "Uuuhh, sorry about tha'."

Xander then reached down and, quite shockingly, managed to pull Willow to her feet. They then began to help Tara up, giggling. Call it vampiric intuition, call it wisdom acquired through over a hundred years of unlife, call it a very nasty drunken premonition, but Spike suddenly saw with an awful clarity what Xander's next move might be. The vampire made a quick, desperate bid to extract himself from the situation without having to sober up too much.

"Brats," he said, "can you help an old vampire up? I need to piss."

Slowly and obviously Xander processed his thoughts. "Sure. Nice. Me too."

"Nawh. I can get to the loo myself. Just need a hand up, mate." Mate? Not anymore. Not that they ever had been friends. And they sure as hell weren't going to start any time soon.

"Spikiwoos and Xander, sitting in the bathroom, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!" Where had that come from? Not Xander, not Willow and sure as hell not Spike, much as he liked the idea. Which left…

"Tara!" Willow mock-admonished, before proceeding to give her flushed-but-not-blushing girlfriend some sort of tonsillectomy. Spike made a quick mental note to get the witches drunk more often. Especially while he could watch. 

Under pressure, Spike forced himself to concentrate. Sadly, willpower alone was not enough to counter the effects of half an evening spent trying to wipe out every memory of Xander's discovery and reaction. On the other hand, it did give him an edge on the others. 

"Pet, why don't you stay here help look after these beautiful ladies? I can find somewhere to piss all on my lonesome." 

"No, really, I'd like to come with you." Don't look at the nasty creature of the night like that. Please, don't make him admit how weak he is. Don't look at him like a puppy just begging to be kicked. Let Spike at least pretend he's strong.

"I'll be fine, luv. You can't leave your witches in their hour of need." They looked at the heap of horny witchiness. Spike would have had the grace to blush, were it not for the obvious. "Look," he began again, but it was hopeless. Propelled by Xander, he staggered off in the vague direction of a door which would, he hoped, lead to a hallway down which he might find the bathrooms. Toilets. Bogs. Enough with the crappy Americanisms, already. He let that one slip, counting it more as a Yiddishism. Because if he focussed enough on semantics (Semitics?) then maybe The Situation would just go away. Yeah. Lying to himself was a brilliant idea right now. Right up there with being found jerking off by the whelp, gasping the aforementioned cretin's name. And yeah, Xander was certainly the cretin out of the two – see, lying is good. 

"You didn't really need to go, did you?" Xander stage whispered, fortunately far enough from the partying masses to be out of earshot.

"Yeah, sure I did."

"You just wanted to get me alone."

"No, really, I need to piss."

"OK."

"Pet, I am told that urinal etiquette normally rates this as a good time to stop standing quite so close to me." Vampires don't get embarrassed. Must be the fucking chip playing with his mind. Again with the lying to himself, but hey, who's listening but Spike, who sure as Buffy deserves to have her kidneys removed via her nostrils and replaced through – Ow! Buggering chip! – and replaced though careful, anaesthetised surgery, has no qualms about dishonesty.

"You don't want me to."

"Yes, I do."

"You don't." God, Goddess, Satan, whoever, this could go on all night. "Look, I've been thinking about the other day," Xander continued, while Spike decided that, on the other hand, there is a lot to be said for an endearing double-act. A great staple of the masses, 'oh no you didn't,'/'oh yes I did.' Especially when compared to 'we need to talk.'

"You're drunk."

"I know. So are you."

"Yes, but then I'm about to do something I'm really going to regret the next morning. Some of us have the good fortune to do that sober."

"I've been thinking a lot about what I saw…"

"Tomorrow, yeah? Tomorrow you can do whatever pathetic trashing of what I like to call my self-esteem you see fit. Sorry, what you Yanks like to call my self-esteem and I like to call my inherent knowledge that I am pure, undead sex appeal. Sod it all, Red appears to have set up residence with my demon. Are you having fun down there?" Spike cocked his head and concentrated on a voice only he could hear.

"…and I've decided…" Not that voice. That voice anyone who wanted could hear, as could those who really, really didn't want. 

"To get totally drunk and make a prat of yourself? Cunning plan, love. One of the best." Wait. That was meant to be 'luv'. Oh, who gives a toss? Not like they weren't both three sheets to the wind – didn't mean anything, anyway, just a slip of the tongue. Yes, and while Spike's in the mood for lying to himself, let's get them all in there. It was only a wank fantasy. Everyone has them. Well, apart from angsty humans – and they say **he's** repressed? So it certainly didn't mean a thing. And just because he's been seeing that face every time he closes his eyes, all that means is that the whelp made a very good wank fantasy. Spike could appreciate a fine looking bloke without it being anything more than lust. 

He wasn't at all overprotective of the boy. Xander was simply the clumsiest and most useless of that pathetic pack of losers who fed him and so it made sense to watch out for him that little bit more. If he got killed then the others would be too busy moping to feed Spike. 

Yes. 

Any more for any more? He didn't resent the way the others treated the boy, just resented that he hadn't thought of the idea of slowly draining the git's self-esteem until he truly believed that he was nothing himself. He had loathed Anya 'cos she had made the whelp happy, not 'cos it was inevitable that she was going to break his heart. And when she did, the only reason Spike had shown concern is because he had known that pity would drive the boy mad. 

Class, can we spell bollocks?

"…you were the only one that was really there for me when Anya left me…" No. Nononono. Should've known that that would come back to haunt him, for want of a better expression. "…and sometimes it seems like you're only one who knows I'm even alive…" Bad choice of words, but then Xander was clearly too drunk to notice. "…and so you're kinda my friend and I want you to be happy and if I can make you happy then it's not like it's some Angel thing where there's anything wrong with you being happy so I want you to be happy and if that's what it takes then I guess…"

"Fuck off. Let me piss in peace, you crapulant streak of puke. We can talk about this tomorrow. Just fuck off, OK? Go be drunk somewhere else. Just fuck off, yeah?" Perfect. Apart from that bit about talking about it tomorrow. Assuming the apocalypse didn't come first, of course. Just fucking perfect.

"You can't really want that."

"I want this not to be happening." Go on, say it all out loud. Not like he's going to remember half of it. And the other half can't make things much worse than they have already. "I want for you not to have said all that and for me to be able to collapse right now in peace."

"Well, I want you to be happy."

"Me too. Now please fuck off." Spike may swear eloquently but variation was never a strong point of his. Not when a simple fuck – no, not like that, go away, bad distraction – did so well.

"I don't see why you can't just…"

"What?"

"Let me kiss you?"

WHAT THE FUCK??????????

Gak. Incoherency not good. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Because you're drunk and there are people around and I don't have a clue how much of what you're saying you mean and…" …and for an evil, soulless, undead creature of the night, that wasn't really up there with taking advantage of a snivelling, confused little minion of the Slayer. Mind games. That must be what Spike was going for. Yes. Yes indeed.

"I meant everything."

"OK, then you really can fuck off. Go be sick somewhere or something."

"I don't understand."

"Pity. That's the problem: pity." Hahahaha! Angelus would be wetting his knickers right now if he could see how his childe was faring, not even encumbered by a soul.

"Kiss me right now," said Xander, pulling himself closer to Spike, "or I'll tell them all that you're queer."

"See me cack my knickers, if I wore any." 

"I'll tell Buffy you took advantage of me."

"Chip, Xander. I couldn't take advantage of you if I wanted to."

"If?" From that close, Xander's breath became overpowering. If the boy's words and state of intoxication hadn't been enough of a disincentive for Spike – and what was going on with that, anyway? Poof – there was always the fact that the paint-stripping qualities of his breath were simply a bye-product of the wall-demolishing ones. G'skan demons would've had a hard time ravishing the boy to within an inch of his life before draining him and – Ow! That was an erotic fantasy, stupid chip, can't it tell the difference between that and the desire to hurt, maim, mutilate, murder? Not that Spike was having 'erotic fantasies', oh no. Spike had wank fantasies, which were completely different, but equally inappropriate for the current situation.

"Don't pity me just because I'm drunk."

"I don't, you braindead turd."

"So why's pity the problem, you undead turd?"

"Fuck off. I'm going to wallow in self-pity for a while and them I'm going to crawl home and try to sleep this off. If you still want to talk –" DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE! "– then come find me tomorrow." Grrr… The chip doesn't appear to be the only Enemy Within.

"I don't want to talk."

"Well, then, don't come find me tomorrow."

"No one can see us here."

"Fuck. Off."

"Suit yourself then. I'll just go back to Wills and Tara and I might just ask if I can watch."

Spike didn't even answer. Disappointed, Xander stomped off, trying as hard as possible to put one foot in front of the other best of three.

Later, after a while growling at passing humans and trying not to make any sudden movements, Spike rejoined Tara, who had not been sticking to the warm coke left out for the teetotallers.

"So, did you have a fun time with Xander, then?"

"What? Oh, not really. We were going to sacrifice puppies but he was too drunk to hold the knife steady."

Pause. Tara giggled, a little unsteady herself.

"I haven't seen him in a while – did he catch up with your fuckbuddy in the end?"

Tara let that one pass, too busy giggling at a joke only she had heard.

"Oh, OK."

"You're not too good at the whole feigning indifference over Xander thing, you know." That wasn't the voices, was it? No, that was Little Miss Oh So Quiet Until Someone Lets Me Near The Illicit Substances. 

"Ga?" Vampire speak for 'Wha..?'

"I'm surprised no one else has noticed."

"B-b-bla?" Vampire speak for 'Ga?'

"Does he know?"

"Yeah, luv. He knows. What d'you think I should do about it, since you appear to be the one with all the answers?" Vampire speak for 'Well, given as I already seem damned…'

But Tara's lucid spell ended as quickly as Dru's ever had. 

"Woah," she said, and slowly, impressively, fell over.

Wobbling towards the comatose Tara and the faintly shell-shocked Spike were Xander, Willow and a random assortment of people Spike couldn't identify at first glance and wasn't even going to bother trying to.

"Xan," one of them was saying, "you really need to go home now. That is, unless you're crashing here? I'm sure Raj will let you stay with him [cue pleading glance to someone who may well have been Raj] and it's probably safer than these streets at night. Sunnydale's not exactly the safest place after dark." Give the monkey a banana. Spike worked out that these were the sober people, banding together for warmth and comfort. He idly wondered how they got their kicks, musing over the possible thrills of poking people and watching them fall over. Small reward for having to wipe vomit from people's mouths, but who was a vampire to judge others' perversions?

"Don't wanna go home."

"Well, let me show you to my humble abode," replied probably-Raj.

"Can't crash here." Xander's eyes lighted on Spike. "The Big Bad'll walk me home."

Someone, possibly the upstart who had spoken earlier, looked at Spike imploringly. "Could you?" Remind Spike again why he's here? Boredom? Yeah, given as the only other explanation would mention big brown eyes, a goofy grin and something approaching the sexiest body this side of Dru's. 

"I don't think so," Spike heard himself saying.

"Come on, man, you're not too far gone. You could make it there and back in under an hour – we promise not to end the party without you."

A puzzled Raj wondered why the blonde dude was clutching his head like that and what a 'sodding chip' had to do with anything. Raj then noticed the two lesbians making out in a corner and all thoughts of chips left his head. 

"I don't want anyone else. I want you, Spike."

The sound of sniggering brought Raj back to what passes for reality. Someone appeared to be laughing at the blonde dude, who was clutching his head again. Seemed like that Zanwatsit was queer or something. Not that Raj had anything against gorgeous, hot, writhing lesbians…

Raj didn't notice the blonde and the queer leaving. On his way across campus to his room later that evening, he was equally oblivious to some guy with yellow eyes and an odd face. To be fair, the guy with yellow eyes and the odd face would probably be hard pressed to pick Raj out of any sort of line up, so we mustn't judge our Raj too harshly.

------

------

"Woah."

"You OK?" Pathetic waste of space. The human, that is, not the vampire who actually seemed concerned.

Pause as Xander dry-retched.

"Right, pet, better out than in."

"Shit."

"OK, come on now, we're almost there."

Pause as Xander hurled, this time producing some liquid.

"Right, pet, better out than in."

"Shit."

Pause for Xander to stand upright. 

Pause for pet vampire to dispatch marginally less tame vampire while Xander watched the world spin.

"Right, come on, we're on your road now. Almost there."

"You're so nice."

"Shush, pet, we don't want it getting around."

"No, you're really nice."

"Pet, that's not the sort of reputation any vamp wants to cultivate."

"No, you don't see. I think you're really nice."

"And I think we only need to stumble another fifty yards before we reach your house. Do you have a key?"

"I have a key?"

"Right, luv, you have a key. Where is your key?"

"Dawn?"

"Stand still." Xander stood upright, trying his best to sway in time with the rest of the world. "Right, now stick your arms out." Xander stood spread-eagled, clutching onto a nearby something or other with one hand. "Right, now don't move any more than you absolutely have to."

Spike resisted the temptation to slip into game-face as he began exploring each of Xander's pockets in turn. It went without saying that he got slightly closer to Xander than he would have, had he had morals, and of course he lingered a moment, enjoying the contact. 

"I knew it," said/slurred Xander. "I knew you weren't just fucking with my mind – I knew you meant it."

"You thought I was fucking with your head?" Woohoo! The Big Bad strikes again! Spike is Evil – if Xanpet says so then it must be tr– wait… if XanDER says so. 

"Yeah. But you're not. At least, no, I don't think you are. Are you? Do you, um, you know, like me?"

"Yeah. I can't breathe without you." There will be a small prize (stolen from the next passerby sober enough to be scared by Spike's game-face) for spotting the most ridiculous thing about that sentence. Spike can't decide between the fact that a master vampire just said that to anyone and the fact that a master vampire just said that to a minion of the Slayer. Xander is going for the obvious undead angle on it. The Voices have put in a vote for Spike having said that out loud. 

Never mind: Xander wouldn't remember in the morning. And even if he did, what more damage could possibly be done now?

"So why won't you, like, you know?"

"Because." Pause. "Found it!" Spike brandished a key. "Tomorrow, if you like, we can talk." WILL I STOP SAYING THAT??? Please.

"Stay the night."

"What? No. My comfy crypt calls. I've got you home, the nasty creatures of the night haven't got a look in so far and I think you can manage the rest of the way on your own."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then you can collapse inside your doorway and wait there until morning, when you'll wake with soaking clothes and an excruciating hangover. Not to mention the prospect of one or more of the older Harrises discovering that their son is taking a keen interest in joining the family business."

"Don't do this."

Spike made no answer, save to fumble the door open and somehow get Xander through it. He handed Xander the key, closed the door again and stood outside in the half-light, finding his bearings.

FUCKITFUCKITFUCKIT! Let's go through this once more. Killer of two slayers – check. One half of The Scourge of Europe – check. Proud owner of a live recording of Sid Vicious Was Innocent by The Exploited – check. Daft ponce who couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut – check. He'd been listening to Ricki and Trisha far too much, thanks to his cacked up sleeping patterns. Next time he had a secret that was just too much for the end result of a lineage containing Darla, Angelus and Drusilla to bear, he could always see if direct sunlight could help. But the most pathetic thing of all, worse than anything that could be attributed to a simple case of ultra-Freudian soul envy, was that he had fucked up the whelp's head like that. How could he have been such a selfish git? Not like Xander didn't have enough problems without the bleached blunder putting his DMs in it. Poor sod. 

Spike stumbled off to his crypt.

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"Spike?" Xander was at the door, looking as rough as, if there were any justice in the world, Spike should have felt. There being no justice in this or any other world, the undead do not get hangovers. "Can I come in?"

"Sure. Whatever. 'Snot like you need an invite."

"Look, I can't remember everything that happened last night…"

"Don't worry. Nothing happened. I didn't do anything – you needn't worry about that." 

"No, I didn't mean it like that." Why the hell not? If the Big Bad wanted something, why didn't the idiot mortal expect him to take it? And if anything (other than a human) mentioned that he hadn't taken it, even when it was offered, that creature would now be being force-fed its spleen. Twice. "I mean I think I said some stuff that wasn't true. I might have just dreamt it though."

"No problem, whelp. I won't take you up on it."

"No, I think you did." 

"Trust me, luv, I would've remembered."

"I remember –"

"Fuck you."

"No, listen, please. Please, Spike. OK? I think I lied to you. Let me say what I think I said, and then let me tell you why it's not true."

Has the whole vampiric pride thing been mentioned recently? If not, now would really be a good time to remind Xander. 

"Listen, boy. I will say this only once. Bugger. Off." Not that Spike wasn't incredibly impressed by Xander's balls of steel in coming to the crypt and attempting, sober, to talk to Spike about this. But then Spike finding Xander's balls impressive is old news. 

"I think I said I just wanted to make you happy."

"Look –" 

"And that's not true."

"If I was going to take advantage of you, luv, don't you think I would've done so already?"

"I just want to be happy. And when you find the walking dead walking the dog in your basement, screaming your name, it's pretty hard just to stop thinking about it."

"I take issue at the screaming, pet. I don't s'pose you could amend that last sentence to 'moaning'?"

"And I couldn't stop thinking about you. And I… I can't… Dammit, I'm not fucking drunk enough to do this."

But Xander didn't move away. He stood there in the sunlight and Spike stood there in the shade and they avoided eye contact, thinking back with patchy memories to what exactly had happened the previous night. 

"Personally," began Spike, "I'm bloody impressed you even came here. This calls for a celebratory playing of your choice of punk classic."

"Trust you." Xander entered the crypt.

"The Living End, Xander? The Get Up Kids? Mean anything to you?"

"They don't count."

"Your knowledge of Antipodean ska punk eclipses mine and it doesn't count? But why, my dearest whelp?"

"First off, it's 'ska', not 'scaaar' –"

"I would rest my case here, but I have a feeling you're not done."

"Secondly, ska punk has tunes. Its idea of complex rhythms is not three-time instead of four-time. It is music, not noise."

"Coming from the only member of your fickle and faithless generation to spend 'Sid and Nancy' getting upset about the factual errors…"

"Spike, everyone knows that scar was on the other side of Sid Vicious's chest."

"No, pet. You know."

"And you."

"Only because I put it there."

"Spike, Matlock put it there after that fight during the '75 tour. Your delusions of grandeur are really getting out of control now."

"'Matlock put it there after that fight during the '75 tour,'" Spike mimicked. "Here's a tip, whelp. Next time you're trying to prove your lack of knowledge on a subject, just keep your mouth shut."

Xander grinned. "Do I really get to choose what we listen to?"

"I said so, didn't I?"

Xander walked across Spike's crypt to one dusty crate very similar to every other dusty crate left there for 'ambience'. He opened it, removed one of the boards from the bottom and then reached into a hidden compartment. "Here's a tip, Spike. Next time you're trying to hide a stash of embarrassing records, don't use exactly the same trick you used with your JD. And your hair-care products. And your leather polish."

Spike slipped into game-face and growled cheerfully. "Mighty cocky, aren't we, boy? But before we get too excited, let's all think back to exactly what trick a certain mortal uses to hide his chocolate."

"No, let's not. Let's instead wonder why Bleach Boy has a stack of Beach Boys albums hidden in a crate in his crypt. Ooh! Blondie! Now if that isn't asking for it, I don't know what is. But honestly, o Big not so Bad, what's wrong with Blondie? Hiding away the Beach Boys is understandable, but for someone who readily admits to liking a band – and I use the term loosely – called Splodgenessabounds, Blondie is hardly as step down."

"They were influenced by Slaughter and the Dogs **and** The Blood. Even you admired the lyrical genius of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps Please."

"No, Blondie, I think you'll find I admired the fact that they said please."

"Well, whelp, now you have me at your mercy, what are we going to be listening to? And before you pick out the most embarrassing thing in there, bear in mind that you're going to be listening to it, too. Not that vampires get embarrassed, and if you even think about mentioning my collection to anyone, those witches might find out some of the more interesting aspects of your porno collection." 

"I can't breathe without you."

"What?" Spike wished he were mortal. Then he could have a heart attack and all this would go away. Or, at the very least, he could hyperventilate for a few minutes while he waited for his mind to catch up with the situation.

"I can't breathe without you."

Or he could faint? Fuck, mortals have it easy.

"You said that, didn't you? Last night?"

No? What are you talking about? Why aren't we talking about punk any more? You know where you are with punk. Normally being insulted, but that's normal enough. "Yeah."

"Did you mean it?"

"Vampires can't breathe."

And then there was this pause. It went on just a little too long for Spike to salvage the moment but just long enough for Xander's anger to bubble over.

"You fuck. You absolute cunt." Xander was speaking in a flat monotone. "You chipped, useless, pathetic, Slayer-dependent streak of crap. I don't care any more. I was going to tell you that I wanted you. I was going to tell some **thing** without a soul that I wasn't sacrificing myself to make him happy, that this wasn't just some desperate step to salvage what I thought of as friendship but that I wanted him. But you really were fucking with my head. You cunt." Nothing about his face betrayed him. His voice never slipped from its flat, angry state. His stance reminded Spike of Angelus's when something threatened Dru. 

Spike grinned. As with punk, he knew where he was with anger.

There was another pause. 

Then there was the kiss. 

As with all good kisses, neither could remember much more than snapshots of sensation. That first feel when their tongues touched. One hand running through hair. Shivers down a back caressed by fingertips against skin. Body drawn closer to body. Every part of both mouths working in a shared rhythm. The taste of caffeine mixing with nicotine as each shared traces of his favourite drug. A moan. 

Time passes oddly in black holes, dying moments and during kisses. 

Then the kiss ended.

"Have I told you today how much I don't like you?"


End file.
